Sometimes I sit here with my laptop or pad of paper and I am frozen, trying so so hard and if I’m lucky a few sentences will spill out, maybe a paragraph. It seems more difficult lately, especially as I get closer to being finished with the first draft.
When I started this story I was in a darker place and I wonder if I can only finish it in the same place. I have been feeling lighter the past couple months and this lightness, this calmness, doesn’t seem to push me at all to the character of my book. So, I sit — sometimes thinking of absolutely nothing at all, only an empty calm, then I reflect on the journey of writing a story, how joyous it can be, how frustrating it is, how many ups and downs there are, the demons, the divine moments, the gifts — just like this parallel life we live..